


It's Thunder

by gunpowdereyes



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-04
Updated: 2005-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-24 01:56:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1587398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gunpowdereyes/pseuds/gunpowdereyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time opens all wounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Thunder

It's Saturday. The driveway leaks dirty melting snow into the street. Jason steps through it; turns left. He walks a crisp, straight, imaginary line. He ducks his head and curls his fists into frigid balls inside his coat pockets. Wind rips a Classified section, an empty beer can, a tissue past him. For the first Saturday in nineteen months, he has nowhere to go. No one to see. Nothing to lose.  
  
The sky rumbles. He keeps walking.  
  
\---  
  
It's Friday, and the drops of rain freezing to his window outside are warmer than Antoine. The heat works sporadically at best and the landlord still won't return his calls. Numb fingers flip the pages of a magazine. He stares through the pictures, ignores the articles. He has nowhere to put his books so he doesn't unpack them; they wait in tired boxes. Next to them, a CD, three rolls of tape and a wrinkled green shirt are stacked neatly by the door. An impromptu lost and found he wishes he could lose.  
  
His phone doesn't ring. He wouldn't answer if it did. But he'd like the option, all the same.  
  
\---  
  
It's Thursday; the clock just ticked past twelve noon. Jason's grip on the receiver is hurting his fingers but he can't let go. Antoine sighs at the other end and asks him once more to stop calling. Jason tells him again, patiently, calmly, that he can't.  
  
"You don't really care. You don't even sound like you care." Antoine sounds so tired.  
  
Jason lacks words -- a trend that should alarm him -- to tell the truth so he agrees that he doesn't and hangs up the phone.  
  
\---  
  
It's Wednesday. Antoine is crying in the middle of a supermarket and people are beginning to stare. If anyone asks he'll tell them that he needs to buy coffee but he doesn't even have a kitchen table and he doesn't want to shop because he doesn't want coffee because he's pretty sure the smell would make him vomit. He's never been a liar.  
  
No one asks. The tears dry in tight sticky streaks on his face. He buys tea and goes home.  
  
\---  
  
It's Tuesday, it's cloudy, it's 7:12 in the morning. A woman wearing bright blue eyeshadow on channel forty-six is selling Jason a combination microwave and toaster. Jason can't imagine microwaving toast but the woman repeats that it's just what he needs. He did give away his toaster yesterday, after all, and he may never sleep again so he should probably at least eat something. A microwave/toaster would help. After two tries his fingers hit the right numbers and he obediently holds the line for the next available sales agent.  
  
\---  
  
It's Monday, and the last plastic bag full of forgottens leaves for Antoine's new place. Antoine stands in the doorway, hand paused on the frame like he has something to say. Jason stands in the hallway with so much to say he doesn't know how to start. They stare at each other in silence.  
  
"I just wish," Antoine says finally, as if that's a full meaningful thought.  
  
"What do you wish?"  
  
"Why." His eyes so full and so barren, Jason looks away. "I wish I knew why."  
  
Jason doesn't answer.  
  
Antoine nods and breathes deep and the door clicks shut behind him. Jason watches the space where he'd been. "Me too," he tells it quietly.  
  
\---  
  
It's Sunday -- Jason remembers because Antoine said he had three appointments and he'd be gone all day and to rent movies and instead he is standing in the living room watching a thin girl whose name might be Laura watching Jason pull on his pants and search for words to explain and who for once has nothing, less than nothing to say, because he had almost prepared for this moment but not for the slow way Antoine would disintegrate in front of him, crumbling in his beautiful way until nothing remained but hollow eyes in a hollow shell.  
  
\---  
  
It's Saturday. The sun nudges the room awake and Jason blinks lazily, joining it. Antoine is already up; coffee is brewing and toast is toasting and he walks in holding a folded section of newspaper.  
  
"I think we should check this place out," he says to start the day. Jason sits up to see the blue circled advertisement for a small house for sale. A small library for Antoine, a game room for Jason, a fireplace for both of them and huge windows to let in the light. Permanence. Unity. Everything they want.  
  
"Later," Jason agrees and tugs the smiling boy closer until he melts into Jason. The coffee finishes and the toast burns before going cold. They'll have it later anyway; for now they don't care. There's no reason to care. They have forever.


End file.
